


Flashbacks

by d00m



Series: Black and Blue (and a little Red too) [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Bane is a momma's boy, Crack, Drabble, Gay porn on the batcomputer, John Blake cannot catch a break, John Blake sucks at being batman, M/M, Pitiful attempt at humor round two, shameless self-insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d00m/pseuds/d00m
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He really wished Bruce would have left him an instruction manual  for this whole vigilante thing. </p>
<p>Because all Blake has right now is an impossible to kill ex-terrorist who’s also a terrible teacher.</p>
<p>Prequel to Theatrics</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flashbacks

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Shameless self-insert in this story if you don't like that sort of thing I apologize.
> 
> This is really rushed and drabbley so I apologize for that too.
> 
> Non Beta'd

**  
**  
John Blake sucked at being Batman.  
  
Sure, he could do the whole “Detective” part. He knew how to follow leads, collect information, interrogate suspects; that kind of stuff.   
  
But, once he’d close in on his perpetrator things got ugly.  
  
Because mostly, it wasn’t just one perp, but several.  
  
And the perps usually had guns.  
  
Guns have bullets.  
  
Bullets hurt.   
  
Simple flow of logic.   
  
Blake was an okay brawler; he had grown up in an orphanage with several other emotionally damaged boys, he went to a public school where he was bullied for his lack of parents, he was trained for the force for chrissake!   
  
But, bullets usually trump fists.  
  
It was a good think Blake knew a thing or two about stealth. He would often sneak out of St. Swithin’s to throw rocks at cars and get drunk during his troubled teen years. (He was very embarrassed about that)  Most of the perps fell for it but after he’d “swooped” (more like awkwardly tackled) in for battle things would get ugly, fast.   
  
Which is where John Blake found himself at this moment; in deep shit.    
  
It wasn’t his fault; the suit was roughly a hundred pounds and meant for someone who probably had an extra hundred pounds of muscle to carry it. He had slipped into the top floor of an abandoned garage and observed some perps below hauling drugs into the back of a windowless van. Blake had snuck closer while balancing on the rafters when gravity decided to be a heartless bitch and topple him.   
  
It was a good thing he knew how to use the cape to break his fall.   
  
“What the fuck?” Yelled one perps.   
  
Blake landed and felt his legs scream in agony as he tried to stand upright; which caused him to fall over awkwardly on his side. His body was not trained for shock absorption. He quickly rolled and found his feet only to stare down the barrels of three guns; with very angry drug runners attached to them.  
  
“Uh...” was all he could say.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing?”  
  
Uh... he’s Batman? You should be running now.  
  
“Dude I think it’s the Bat.”  
  
“Naw, that ain’t the Bat.  If he was we’d be takin’ dirt naps by now it’s just some posers like the guy the Clown cut up on TV.”   
  
“But he ain’t wearin’ hockey pads.”   
  
John Blake used their brief moment of arguing to drop a smoke pellet and dive for cover; he almost smirked at their shrieks of alarm and firing their guns at random.   
  
“Holy balls it is the Bat!”   
  
“Shut your mouth Dan, let’s get out of here.”  
  
“Augh! He’s got me!”  
  
Uh, no he doesn’t. Batman was hiding behind a crate. Maybe one of the perps had grabbed the other by accident.  
  
“The Bat’s got Mitchell!”   
  
“Shoot him!”  
  
A gunshot. A  thud. Kill shot most likely. Blake was right about them being confused.   
  
“What the fuck Nick!?”   
  
“I’m sorry Dan I though- auugh!”   
  
There was a sound of bone connecting with flesh; a sickening crunch sound which make John wince. Then, cold realization hit him. There was someone else here. He remained frozen behind his crate; unsure of what to do.   
  
“Jesus Christ!”   
  
“He broke my leg he broke my-”  
  
There was the sound of sickening snap; the kind made when necks were broken and the sound of a body hitting the floor; then terrified babbling.   
  
“I thought the Bat didn’t kill... I thought the shit about Dent was-”  
  
Blake heard a final scream turn into a gurgle and another heavy thud.   
  
That’s when he heard the artificial hiss.  
  
Oh no.  
  
“If it isn’t a sheep in wolf’s clothing.” the voice was deep, with a mechanical rattle to it.   
  
“You’re supposed to be dead.”  
  
Blake had visited City Hall to help with the cleanup; arrests mostly, identifying those who didn’t make it as well. He went up the stairs and found nothing but what used to be a bulletproof vest, bits of flesh, and an enormous amount of blood. The guys who worked in forensics said he wouldn’t have survived and was probably curled up in an alley somewhere. Since they never found his body Blake assumed the dogs got to him or he ended up in the river.  
  
Well, guess not.   
  
“So are you.” Was his reply.   
  
Sassy for a mass-murdering psychopath.   
  
“I’m a symbol; you can’t kill a symbol.” Jesus, that sounded awful but then he was scared shitless and exhausted.   
  
He heard a laugh, a raspy artificial laugh. Blake didn’t like it. And then he felt a large hand grab him by the back of his neck and pull. The next thing he knew, he was flying through the air; landing on one of the now-dead perps.   
  
It was Mitchell; the one who got shot; his brains and bits of hair were paining the dirt floor a nasty grey-pink color. Blake fought the urge to throw up and balked from the grisly scene. He struggled to find his footing and stood to face Bane: the mercenary-turned-terrorist who just couldn’t stay dead.   
  
“So, this is who Mr. Wayne entrusted with his legacy.” Bane said thoughtfully, while he clung to the lapels of the brown leather jacket he was sporting.  
  
“Yeah, I know right? Just kill me and get it over with.” He felt angry and humiliated. He was doing a shit job as Batman and Bruce was probably looking down at him in shame.   
  
Bane cocked an eyebrow.  
  
“You don’t fear death?”   
  
“Yeah, I do but I might as well go out with some semblance of dignity.”   
  
Bane narrowed his eyes at him for a moment then shook his head like he was almost disappointed.   
  
“Tell me, Bat-Man. How is this dignified?”   
  
Blake thought for a moment; he was standing (if wobbling wearily counted as standing) in a room full of dead drug runners and their smuggled product after failing to get the drop on, and apprehend them; only to be killed in the same way as the aforementioned drug runners. He had only been Batman for a month and a half and the people of Gotham didn’t even know he was there even though Gordon kept putting up the signal in the sky, Blake was too embarrassed to visit him anyway.   
  
He hung his head in defeat.  
  
“It isn’t.”   
  
“Right.”  
  
“Are you still going to kill me?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Blake’s head shot up.  
  
“Why not?”   
  
“Because in your current state, Bat-Man, it would be much too easy.”   
  
Did Bane just insult him? Blake felt like he should be insulted. But then again he was kind of relieved that he wasn’t going to have his spine ripped out through his ass.   
  
Bane turned to leave the warehouse.   
  
“I do give you credit where it’s due. You are particularly good at collecting information. Good evening.”   
  
The terrorist gave him a curt nod before slipping out of a side door.   
  
Blake wished it would be the last time he saw him.

 

* * *

 

 

John Blake had trouble finding work after quitting the force. Sure, Jim Gordon was an excellent reference but then again the Commissioner  was possibly going to be fired due to the whole Harvey Dent debacle.  
  
But then again, no one wanted his job so he could very well be able to keep it.   
  
However, a lot of people were still butthurt about the whole being lied to thing as well.   
  
Gotham was in a state of disarray even though it had been a year. The new Mayor (who was thinking of firing Gordon) was adamant on repealing the Dent act which cut down the already massacred police force. Anarchy exploded and crime rose tenfold thanks to the newly freed Blackgate inmates and a mass breakout at Arkham.   
  
Gotham may not be held hostage anymore by the threat of a nuclear holocaust; but damn, it sure felt like it.   
  
Blake did get a job at a bookstore near his apartment. It was a little above minimum wage, but Blake was used to going without. There was another girl who worked there; a former student at Gotham University from North Dakota who didn’t have enough money to move back home.  
  
Her name was Genevieve; she was pudgy, plain, ginger, and wore those stupid hipster glasses (even though they were real, she had prescription lenses for them) She dressed frumpily and usually kept to herself.   
  
Blake liked her because she didn’t ask about the bruises Blake procured (especially the massive one on the back of his neck courtesy of Bane) however she did frown at him when he walked funny because of his sore legs. His manager and most customers usually commented on his disheveled appearance.   
  
There was a small cafe’ in the bookstore and during his lunchbreak he usually sat down for a cup of coffee and one of those cute little sandwiches with a pretentious name (he really could go for a burger but there weren’t any fast food joints close by). Sometimes, Gordon would stop by and say hello which Blake appreciated.   
  
  
Blake was munching one of those aforementioned sandwiches when Gordon tapped him on the shoulder.   
  
“Mind if I sit here son?”  
  
“No problem.” Blake replied with a smile.   
  
Gordon sat down across from him and flopped a file onto the tabletop; he was holding a foam cup of coffee which Blake was sure had more cream and sugar than the actual product advertised. But, he was more interested in the file.  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Three men... drug runners were murdered last night.”   
  
Shit.   
  
“You know I quit the force. Can’t help you.”  
  
“I know son. I just thought you’d like to know.”   
  
Blake watched Gordon’s eyes flicker up to his face, and down to his neck then back up to his face. Jesus, the man was good. He wondered if Gordon knew Bruce’s identity from the start but was just playing dumb the whole time or was in denial.   
  
“They’re not the only ones either.”  
  
Blake almost choked on his sandwich.   
  
“We have reports of several murders, gang-bangers, drug runners, even some of the still-missing Blackgate prisoners... all killed in a similar fashion.”   
  
“Jesus Christ.” Blake murmured. Bane was pretty busy wasn’t he?  
  
  
The rest of the conversation consisted of Blake trying to play keepaway on the subject of a murderous vigilante. He asked about Barbara and the kids; they were alright, his daughter was planning on attending college in Gotham after she graduated this year. He asked about the guys on the force; they were doing okay considering the circumstances. He asked about Jim’s new girlfriend: a blonde named Sarah; she was planning on moving in with him soon.   
  
Blake was beginning to suspect that Gordon knew of his involvement. He was pretty sure the Commissioner didn’t think he was the killer but that Blake was withholding information. And, he did know something pretty vital; (a murderous ex-terrorist was on the loose) but, he didn’t want to blow the cover of his own pitiful attempt at vigilantism.   
  
However, Blake didn’t like the idea of his former colleagues not being prepared for a face-off with Bane.   
  
“Is there something you want to tell me John?” Gordon asked.  
  
“I... I thought I saw something last night.”  
  
Gordon leaned forward. He knew that look; it was the same look he used while interrogating  suspects back at the MCU.   
  
“I was walking home from... uh I was out drinking so this might not be accurate.”   
  
“It’s alright son.”   
  
Sometimes Blake wished Gordon would just frickin’ adopt him or something. But then again he used to fantasise about Bruce doing the same; and letting Blake be his sidekick (he was so pathetic sometimes). It made him sick to lie to a man he wished was his father but it was the only way to transfer information.  
  
Blake fabricated a story of almost getting mugged (explaining the massive bruise on his neck) but the mugger ran off because of some guy standing in the shadows.  
  
“What kind of guy?”  
  
“Big guy, really big. Must have been like... six foot four... two hundred and twenty pounds.”  
  
“Fat or muscle?”  
  
“Muscle.”   
  
“Alright.”  
  
“I couldn’t see his face but I kept hearing this weird... hissing noise.”   
  
“Hissing.” The Commissioner repeated.   
  
“Yeah... kind of like Darth Vader.”   
  
Gordon’s eyes widened. Bingo. The message had been processed correctly.  
  
“What did he do?”  
  
“I don’t know... I was too busy hauling ass. I’m a wuss when I’m drunk.”   
  
The commissioner nodded, his brow furrowed in thought.   
  
“Well, thank you John.”  
  
“No problem Commish.”  
  
Gordon smirked slightly and got up to leave; placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
  
“If there’s anything else you’d like to say give me a call.”  
  
“Sure thing.”   
  
And that was that. Crisis averted.

 

* * *

 

 

Blake was feeling pretty good about himself (despite lying to a friend, being a shitty Batman, and meeting death personified) until he got home and saw an eviction notice posted on his door.   
  
Did he mention that he had been behind on his rent for the past couple months?  
  
He had two weeks to pack what meager shit he had and move out. Sometimes he wondered if God (if there was a god) really hated him.   
  
Blake fumbled for his keys and entered his abode; it was a small one-bedroom apartment with sparse furnishings. The only thing hanging on the walls was his Certificate from the Academy-  
  
Why wasn’t it on the wall?  
  
The only thing on the wall, was not in fact, on the wall. And it was not on the floor either. Which meant he was visited by the Certifiburgler, or...  
  
There was someone in his apartment.   
  
Blake closed the door behind him and instinctively reached for a gun that wasn’t there. That’s when he heard the hiss.  
  
Fuck his face in half.   
  
Blake crept into the living room and saw Bane sitting on his peice-of-shit sofa with his jacket draped over his lap; which revealed a tight-fitting black shirt. He had the certificate in his hands and was studying it closely like it was the most interesting thing in the world.   
  
“Officer Robin J Blake.” Bane murmured.  
  
Was he greeting him or just reading the certificate?   
  
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Blake replied, trying to hide his terror and confusion.   
  
Bane didn’t look up but gently set aside the frame on the adjacent couch cushion.   
  
“You were a Detective.”   
  
Was he hard of hearing? The mask covered his ears so it was likely.   
  
“Yeah, so what? What are you doing in my apartment?”  
  
“Research, Detective.”   
  
“I’m not a Detective anymore. I quit.”  
  
“Why did you leave?”   
  
Bane stood from the couch and gently placed his jacket over the back of it. Blake noticed he had taken his boots off and was wearing black socks. He approached him and Blake took a step back.  
  
“Sometimes... uh...”  
  
“Because the laws instituted to protect the people end up inhibiting them instead. Preventing true justice to be delivered to those who need it most; the structures of your society becomes... shackles for the very people put in power to defend them. ”   
  
Bane was a wizard?  
  
“Uh...”   
  
“Is that why Mr. Wayne chose you Detective? Or was it that you shared a similar past?”   
  
Blake’s throat went dry. Bane was a _psychic_ wizard.   
  
“I... I don’t know. Just please tell me why you’re here?”  
  
Bane studied him closely.  
  
“You are going to become an opponent worthy for me.”   
  
“You’re going to train me?”  
  
“Of course.”   
  
“What if I say no?”  
  
Bane gave him a look like he was chiding a small child who didn’t know any better.   
  
“You made your choice when you put on that armor, Detective.”  
  
God damn everything.   
  
“When do we start?”  
  
“Now.”  
  
The next thing Blake knew he was in his kitchenette with a bloody nose.   
  
It was a good thing he didn’t have to work this weekend.  
  
The first fight with Bane left his apartment completely trashed; it was a good thing he was moving out anyway. But now he didn’t have any furniture to take with him. Also, Blake was a bruised and bloodied mess. The terrorist was courteous enough to point out everything he did wrong and sew up a cut on his lower back before vanishing like smoke in the wind; promising to see him again soon.   
  
Blake wondered if Bane and Bruce were trained by the same person; they were both good at vanishing out of thin air.   
  
Wait... Bane knew that Bruce was Batman.  
  
They _were_ trained by the same person.   
  
Which meant Bruce was trained by terrorists; lovely.

 

* * *

 

 

If there was one good thing that Bruce left for Blake, it was the Cave. Not only was there an excellent supercomputer which made his investigations go much swifter, but there was a small apartment near the elevator which he assumed led to Wayne Manor proper. The thing was pretty basic. Just a bed, night table, wardrobe (filled with pajamas and other loose casual clothing that were two sizes too big) There wasn’t a kitchen so John bought a microwave, mini fridge, and some hot plates with what should have been this month’s rent.The bathroom had the basics, a toilet, sink and small glass shower.   
  
In short, he had a place to live. The commute would be a load of ass; but it was better than nothing.   
  
Also, he was pretty confident Bane wouldn’t break in and kick his ass again.   
  
There were downsides though, it was the bats mostly. They flew into his room when he would forget to close the door, and when he did remember to close the door they would just crawl under it.  
  
He learned that one when he had a guest join him in the shower.   
  
After doing some research  on the Supercomputer he learned that bats can squeeze into holes about the size of a pencil; at least he knew to stuff a towel under the door before he went to sleep or took a shower.   
  
He lived that way for a couple weeks, he worked, he did research, he visited the kids at the orphanage.   
  
He didn’t go out as Batfail though; too afraid of Bane.  
  
Or was he just too embarrassed?   
  
Gordon would visit him during his lunch breaks at work, he would mention more killings and that Bane was the number one suspect; said some local street kids had seen him poking around St. Swithin’s a few weeks ago.  
  
“Father Reilly said someone went through the files in the back office... that same night our files were tampered with.”   
  
Bane was doing research on him wasn’t he?   
  
“Really?” Blake murmured while sipping on his plain black coffee; trying to feign ignorance.   
  
“He took your file. Both places.”   
  
Blake almost choked again. He needed to learn not to put things in his mouth when receiving distressing news. At least he knew now that Bane wasn’t that much of a wizard. He just knew where to look.  
  
“What are you saying?”  
  
“We think he might be targeting you.”   
  
“Me? Why me?”  
  
“During the Occupation you and I caused lots of damage to his plans.”   
  
“But I was just a street cop. No one knew who I was... or even cared really. You’d think he would come after you- being the leader and all.”   
  
“If he wanted me he would have taken me by now.” Gordon replied, taking a sip of his cream and sugar. “There are rumors about the Batman coming back as well.”  
  
Damn it. He hadn’t gone out in two weeks why was the Commish bringing it up now?  
  
“Bullshit.” Blake blurted out. “No one could have escaped that blast.”  
  
“I watched him get shot and thrown out of a two-story building. The same fall killed another man.”   
  
“Falling out of a building and getting blown up are two different things.” Blake argued.   
  
“I know, son.”   
  
Blake kept playing keepaway with Gordon until he realised he only had two minutes to get back to work. The Commissioner patted his upper arm as he left.   
  
“You know, we’re worried about you son.”   
  
“I know... uh... thanks.”  
  
“Sarah said you got evicted. If you need a place to stay... you let me crash on your couch for five months and I haven’t returned the favor yet.”   
  
“It was a shit couch I could have done better... and I found a place.”  
  
Gordon chuckled and waved goodbye as John went back to work.  
  
  
“Dude, if you’re gonna throw up please go to the bathroom because I’m not cleaning it out of the carpet.” Genevieve said to him.  
  
Was he really that pale? He didn’t realise he was that nervous. Gordon knew he was hiding something but he was too kind to try and squeeze it out of him; he was just going to chisel away bits and pieces until Blake finally cracked.   
  
“Uh... I’ll be okay thanks.”  
  
“He’s here a lot isn’t he?”  
  
Great, Genevieve who normally kept to herself just decided to be nosy. Her midwestern accent was all nasally and annoying as all fuck so he could see why she didn’t talk much.   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“He’s the police Commissioner.”   
  
“Yeah, I used to be a cop.”  
  
“Really? Why’d you quit?”  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
“Sorry.”   
  
She dipped her head awkwardly and went back to cracking a rolls of change for the cash register; she didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day.  
  
  
Several hours later Blake went back to the Cave; his mind buzzing with nervous energy. So, he decided to do the only thing a twenty five year old bachelor could think of doing to calm down.   
  
He was surprised to find that Bruce had forgot to clear out the history on the Supercomputer he had good taste in porn.   
  
Not that Blake was REALLY into porn (he had spent most of his life using his imagination), it was just he needed a distraction and the computer was there so why not? He was surprised to find out that Bruce was most likely Bisexual (based on his choice of wank-material) or he was just into men getting pounded in the ass.  
  
Blake had been aware of his own homosexuality for a long time; he experimented in High School and a little at the academy and had enjoyed everything he had tried so far. He hadn’t gone “all the way” with a guy (he’d mostly sucked them off or was sucked off in return) and due to his lifestyle choices he doubted he’d be getting any ass (or dick) in anytime soon.  
  
Well, anyway Batman had gay porn on his computer and Blake jerked off to it then went to bed. The orgasm leveled his head and his nerves so he drifted right off to sleep.  
  
And he made damn well sure to tuck a towel under the door to keep the bats out. **  
**

* * *

 

Blake was having a dream about riding a black pony through his bookstore in a hailsorm when suddenly he felt himself flying through the air.  
  
“What the fuck!” he screamed.   
  
His mattress landed on top of him and Blake felt something really heavy flop down on top of the it. He was pinned underneath it thrashing and cursing while still half awake.   
  
“Did you really think you could hide from me Detective?”   
  
Blake took it back. Bane really was a wizard; he was the goddam headmaster of Hogwarts.   
  
“How... how did you?”   
  
“No matter. We will train now.”   
  
“Jesus Christ I just woke up-”   
  
Bane flipped the mattress off of him and picked him up like he was a fucking sandbag; he tossed Blake over his shoulder and carried him out of the apartment and into the main part of the Cave.   
  
“You’ve had plenty of time to rest and to gratify yourself as you please.”   
  
Gratify? Oh no.  
  
John had left the porn tabs up. Bane had most likely seen everything.  
  
“Oh fuck.”  
  
“You have... interesting taste Detective.” Bane chuckled while walking past the computer; the video Blake had finished to was on pause with  three naked men in _flagrante delicto_.   
  
He had seen everything. Blake wanted to curl up and die he was so embarrassed.   
  
“Just kill me now.”   
  
“I  thought you westerners found such things... amusing.”   
  
“No it’s fucking embarrassing now please put me down.”   
  
“As you wish.”  
  
Bane tossed him in the lake. The freezing cold, guano and bat-piss filled lake. John felt all the air leave his lungs as he wailed in shock like a prepubescent child.    
  
“What- how... FUCK YOU.”  
  
Bane was laughing at him. It was a deep, harsh sound that must have come from somewhere deep inside of him and was distorted by the mask.   
  
“I thought you might need to cool off before we begin.”   
  
Blake struggled out of the water. He was so cold his teeth were chattering and he was sure his lips turned blue. Bane had left to close the porn tabs on the computer.   
  
“You... asshole... son of a... cocksucker.”  
  
“If my father preferred to perform _fellatio_ I am quite sure I would not exist.”   
  
“I wasn’t talking about your father.”  
  
Bane’s whole body went rigid. He gave Blake a look so cold it made the water in the lake seem warm and inviting.   
  
He never knew Bane was a mama’s boy then again he probably thought the terrorist probably ate his way out of her uterus and used her skin as a blankie or some freaky shit.   
  
Wait, that was disgusting why did he think that? Bane didn’t have a mouth to eat with anyway.   
  
Bane pulled off the brown loose knit sweater he was wearing, kicked off his combat boots and socks, then lunged at him. John would have retaliated but he was fucking cold and distracted by the huge scar on Bane’s chest.   
  
Was he missing a nipple? He was missing his right nipple. It was blown clean off.   
  
Bane’s body felt like the bastard lovechild of a steam locomotive and a brick wall when he hit him. Blake was sent back into the lake with a very pissed off terrorist forcing his head under water. Blake wanted to tap out and take back what he said but Bane wasn’t giving him a lot of time above to find enough breath to say the words.  
  
“Fuck... I’m”  
  
Dunk.  
  
“Sorry ughgh.”   
  
Punch. Dunk.   
  
Bane was growling at him in some foreign language and he was sure they weren’t nice words. His massive fist was clutching the hair on the top of his head as he attempted to drown the now panicking Blake. The water was so fucking cold that his bones ached. He wondered if Bane could feel it.   
  
Blake finally fought back and grabbed at the only thing he could think of: the mask, which caused Bane to balk and shove him away before punching him in the face. The smaller man put up his hands in defeat and  balked; feeling warm blood dribbling out of his nose and down his chin.   
  
“I take it back I take it back I’m sorry!”   
  
Bane paused for a moment. If looks could kill Blake would be dead a thousand times over.   
  
“You’re sorry for what?”  
  
“I’m sorry I called your mom a cocksucker.”   
  
The terrorist tilted his head to the side and studied him closely then turned to get out of the water. Blake followed but Bane turned sharply and shoved him back in.   
  
“Swim twelve laps and I’ll let you out.”  
  
“Do you know how cold it is? I’m going to get hypothermia!”

  
“The less you move the sooner it will happen. If you pass out I’ll collect you.”   
  
Jackass.   
  
But then again Blake had insulted his mom so he considered it a tit for a tat.

 

* * *

 

Blake lay curled in every single blanket he could find in a new pair of pajama pants. Bane had borrowed one of his (originally Bruce’s) as well (even though they were a little too small, the elastic did wonders) and was drying his original pair of grey cargo pants over a campfire he had made in the main part of the Cave.   
  
Black, brown, and grey. Bane seemed to prefer neutral colors.   
  
He decided a cup of ramen would help warm him up so he fixed himself some; trying to keep his whole body from trembling while he waited for it to be done cooking in the microwave.  
  
While he watched the styrofoam cup go round and round he heard the familiar mechanical hiss of Bane’s mask and he turned; nervous of what else the terrorist had in mind.  
  
“I am really sorry about the whole mom thing.”   
  
“I am sure you are.”   
  
Bane stepped into his room, the fingers on his right hand twitching nervously at his side. Blake figured that was why he usually held onto the collar of his jacket; to keep them from fidgeting. He never took Bane for one to have a nervous tic.   
  
“Nerve damage.” Bane replied suddenly.  
  
Had he been staring? Whoops.   
  
Bane lifted up his right hand and spread out his fingers. His right pinky was left curled close to his palm.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“Many things.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
Ding. Yay cup o’ ramen! Blake gingerly pulled out the steaming cup and set it on top of the microwave to cool. He glanced back at Bane for a moment.  
  
“Uh...you want anything?”  
  
Bane shook his head and moved to sit on the bed (which a half-frozen Blake had put back together)   
  
“No thank you.”  
  
Oh... the mask... right. He felt like a jackass.   
  
“Can you take that thing off?”  
  
“Not now.”  
  
“What’s it for?”   
  
“Pain.”   
  
“From you hand?”  
  
“That. And more.”   
  
“Your chest?”  
  
Bane gave him a weaker version of the “you insulted my mother;prepare to die” look. So Blake muttered an apology and sipped the broth out of his ramen. A long awkward silence followed.   
  
The hissing of the mask was getting less and less annoying and more like white noise.   
  
“That, was courtesy of Miss Kyle.” He said finally.   
  
Oh. The last time Blake had seen her she was riding off on the Batpod. What garbled news reports and home movies the press had managed to collect showed her using it to bomb the stolen Tumblers during the last battle. It only took one missile to sent one flying and flipping onto it’s back.   
  
Bane survived a shot from that thing?   
  
“How the hell are you still alive?” Blake blurted out.   
  
Bane gave him a slightly amused look.  
  
“I’ve realised throughout the course of my life I’ve been extremely difficult to kill.”   
  
“You think you’re immortal.”  
  
“No. Just what would you westerners say... in good luck?”   
  
“You’re a lucky son of- you’re just lucky.”   
  
Bane nodded then looked at his hands; they were large beautiful manly hands. Blake’s favorite kind. The fingers were large and thick, but not too thick to make the hands seem like paws.   
  
Stop looking at the immortal terrorist’s hands; perv.   
  
“Sometimes I wish it wasn’t so.”   
  
“Oh....”   
  
“Do not pity me, Detective.”  
  
“Uh... sorry?”  
  
“Be glad I have not been killed. I’m here to help you.”  
  
“How  exactly, is kicking my ass helping me?”  
  
“You’re learning.”  
  
“Yeah, how to avoid you breaking something important.”  
  
Bane’s eyes lit up like he was a five year old on Christmas Day. Well, in the movies anyway. Blake always remembered the five year olds at St. Swithin’s being disappointed.  
  
“Learning how to defend yourself.”  
  
Seriously?   
  
“You’re kidding me.” Blake replied.   
  
“I do not kid, Detective.”   
  
Bane stood from the bed and strolled out to his campfire Blake didn’t bother to follow him or finally ask where he had managed to find dry kindling (or bring it into the cave without it getting wet) because he was sure Bane was changing back into his own clothing and he didn’t need to see that.  
  
He’d seen enough naked men for one night.

 

* * *

 

Bane left behind the Pajamas he had borrowed (Blake burned them in the campfire because it would be too weird to wear them after that) and gave him an address and a date for a more formal meeting for “sparring” . Bane promised if Blake did not arrive on schedule that he would be “collected” and forced to swim in that guano-filled lake until he passed out.   
  
The location  was an abandoned warehouse in the Narrows where he assumed Bane was hiding out. It would be most logical because of the culture surrounding the place was basically “your business is your business please don’t rob/rape/kill me.”   
  
If anyone saw Bane in the Narrows they would say absolutely nothing.   
  
Blake knew because after aging out of Swithin’s his first apartment was there; and it was probably the worst two years of his life while he trained for the Academy.   
  
His apartment was broken into four times. Every time no one on his floor did anything about it or cooperated with the police; even with the heavy penalties put in place by the Dent Act. Blake took to keeping everything important to him in a satchel that he would carry around his shoulder wherever he went.   
  
It kind of hurt that everything that mattered to him could fit in a bag; but then again when he was being tossed from one foster home to another that was all he was allowed to bring with him.  
  
He really needed to stop thinking about that; it make him hurt all over; well, emotionally not physically.   
  
Blake had also come to terms with Bane trying to “help” him. He decided if he survived this he would be able to follow in Bruce’s footsteps as Batman.   
  
Or maybe something more? 

 

* * *

 

Bane was sitting cross-legged in front of a fire when Blake entered the warehouse. It was obvious he had been living here for a while due to the king-size mattress that was pushed off to the side; strewn with blankets and neatly propped up on top of some boxes. He also passed a crate filled with random clothing; mostly different sets of cargo pants, t-shirts, and sweaters.  
  
He never took Bane for a sweater guy. But then again he never took him for a momma’s boy either.   
  
The terrorist was shirtless and had his back to him; which was how Blake saw the ugly scar running from the base of his head down the the small of his back.  
  
That had to be what the mask was for. It had to.   
  
“Good evening Detective.” he said without getting up.   
  
“I wish you would stop calling me that; it’s misleading.”  
  
“But, that is what you are; what you always have been.”   
  
Bane stood up to face him; strolling over to another crate and placing a small book on top of it.   
  
Reading by the firelight; romantic.   
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Following leads, analysing evidence, suspicion. You may not be paid to be a detective but you are one at heart.”   
  
“Uh.”   
  
Bane chuckled.  
  
“Remove your shirt and your shoes and we will begin.”  
  
Blake didn’t protest and was left in nothing but a loose pair of sweats as Bane pulled off his boots and socks.   
  
And then, Bane proceeded to wipe the floor with him. 

**Author's Note:**

> I really do live in North Dakota
> 
> in flagrante delicto is fancy speech for "being caught in the act" which is usually used when someone is caught in the middle of coitus.
> 
> Bats really can fit into a hole the size of a pencil. I found out when a colony moved into my Attic. It's gross.
> 
> I also had a bat visit me in the Shower once. It was also gross.


End file.
